


Take Care

by rosy_cheekx



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Caretaking, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Gift Giving, M/M, Multi, Nicknames, Pet Names, Polyamory, Sick Character, Sickfic, So affectionate, and so does jon, jonmartim - Freeform, just like, lets give tim a turn, lots of lil kisses, martin does a lot of caring, so sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:01:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29001147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosy_cheekx/pseuds/rosy_cheekx
Summary: It had taken nearly thirty minutes for Tim to get Jon and Martin situated. The former was curled on the couch around the latter, in his lap and fiddling with his sweatshirt strings with glassy eyes. The fever had hit Jon hard, and he sympathized, but Tim couldn’t deny it was cute to see Jon absent of reservations or anxieties for a bit.Martin was, painfully, the opposite. Every time Tim brought him a mug of chamomile or passed him a new ice pack to ease his nausea, Martin would apologize and thank Tim in turns.After a while, Tim had given up on reminding him not to be sorry, that he was happy to help, exchanging it for a love-dripping “anytime, sweetheart” and a kiss to his clammy forehead.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker
Comments: 11
Kudos: 112





	Take Care

**Author's Note:**

> Gosh this was just the most indulgent little piece of love. I played around with the right combo of caretaker vs sick duo, and this was my favorite, honestly. I had a lot of fun writing it and i hope you had fun reading it! Drop a comment or a kudos if you did :)

Tim wriggled his nose against the paper mask he put over his face. It was by some miracle he hadn’t gotten sick and certainly didn’t want to risk spreading any germs in the Asda, what with how sick Jon and Martin had gotten, and how quickly.

**\----**

_Jon had succumbed first. It had been obvious when he slept through his alarm, prompting Tim to shake him awake gently. The glassy eyes that met his were not the ones of a healthy Jonathan Sims, especially not with that clammy, pale skin. He had clung to Tim or Martin most of the day, head on a lap or curled around a free hand, reminding Tim vaguely of a particularly needy cat (or, dare he say it, a lapdog). Martin had been quick to play caretaker, as was his nature, and Tim was happy to let him for a while. Martin liked it, seemed to need it sometimes, and he was good at it. So, why not?_

_That answer had come quickly when Tim had caught Martin, at quarter one in the morning, singing his praises to the porcelain god in their ensuite. He sat with him until Martin had nothing left to give, alternating between rubbing his back and pressing a cool cloth to his neck and forehead. Kneeling over the toilet, Martin had insisted he was fine, it was something he ate, but as he and Tim had eaten the same salmon that night, Tim wasn’t inclined to believe him. Thus, Tim had two ill boyfriends on his hands: one clingy and limp, the other stubbornly refusing to be cared for._

**\----**

The shopping trolley was cold under his fingertips, and he flexed them, cracking his knuckles as he wandered the aisles of the pharmaceuticals. Tossing a few boxes of cold and flu capsules into the trolley, he surveyed the aisles. His hands flitted over a tub of Vaporub and he turned it in his hands delicately. The answer to everything, his mum had said when he and Danny were kids. Flu, fever, cold, hell, when he had broken his arm falling out of a tree he was pretty sure she had rubbed some under his nose before taking him to A&E. He opened the pot and inhaled, memories of soft warm hands, chicken noodle soup, hot honey, and Danny flooding his senses. One moment was all he needed before screwing the top back on, tossing it in his trolley, and swiping at the heat behind his eyes. He was _not_ going to cry in the aisle of an Asda, for chrissake. He had people he loved waiting for him.

**\----**

_It had taken nearly thirty minutes for Tim to get Jon and Martin situated. The former was curled on the couch around the latter, in his lap and fiddling with his sweatshirt strings with glassy eyes. The fever had hit Jon hard, and he sympathized, but Tim couldn’t deny it was cute to see Jon absent of reservations or anxieties for a bit._

_Martin was, painfully, the opposite. Tim knew his history with his mum and his heart broke for the poor man. Every time Tim brought him a mug of chamomile or passed him a new ice pack to ease his nausea, Martin would apologize and thank Tim in turns. After a while, Tim had given up on reminding him not to be sorry, that he was happy to help, exchanging it for a love-dripping “anytime, sweetheart” and a kiss to his clammy forehead. He hoped it would sink in eventually, but it was clearly a chat to have with clear minds and healthy bodies. Martin had agreed to “keep an eye on Jon”; an easy task, technically, since all he was likely to do was sleep. But the goal clearly seemed to improve Martin’s spirits._

_Tim was definitely not a natural caretaker. Emotionally, he was a great shoulder to lean on, someone to talk to. But this part? Anticipating someone’s needs, especially those who weren’t easy patients, and knowing what the write things to feed his sick partners? Not his forte. Google had been his best friend for the past day and a half or so: clear liquids, no dairy, the thirty-minute rule to see if you can keep something down. But they were out of fever reducers and flu capsules, so off to the store he went._

**\----**

As Tim meandered the Asda, he found himself standing in front of a Valentine’s display. It was mid-January, but that was clearly irrelevant. A collection of stuffed animals had caught his eye, frogs, dogs, cats, black and white cows, all with massive pink love-hearts sewed to feet or paws or hooves in presentation. Tim dug in the box without thinking, tossing a fuzzy orange cat and black-spotted cow into the trolley. Grinning under the mask, he turned back into the aisles. He knew what he could do to help his boyfriends.

“Hello, hello!” Tim called, shaking snow off his jacket as he opened the door to the flat, peering down the hallway into the living room and kicking off his shoes. “I come bearing gifts!”

“ _Shh!_ ” Tim heard and winced to himself, nodding and tiptoeing his way to the living room dramatically, expecting to see Martin frowning at him for waking Jon up. In fact, he saw Jon, leaning against the arm of the couch with a softly snoring Martin in his lap, torso between his legs and head on his chest. “You’ll wake him.”

“Hey there, Jon,” Tim crooned, dropping the bags on the coffee table and a kiss to his hairline. “You alright? Nice to see you awake.” He stroked Martin’s auburn curls off his sweaty temple and pressed his wrist to his forehead. A little warm, maybe, but passable. Good.

Jon leant into the touch, humming assent. “Feeling coherent, at least. Not good, but better. What did you get?” Tim held up a finger and dug into a cloth bag, digging out a box of fever reducers, flu medicine, and antinausea pills.

“Pick your poison. And some other things, for when Marto’s awake.” He handed Jon the flu capsules at his request, along with a glass of lukewarm water.

Almost on cue, Martin hummed and curled onto his side, pressing his shoulder into Jon’s ribs. Jon winced, gasping at the pressure on his chest. Tim, suddenly remembering Jon was two ribs down and was a very skinny individual, did his best to lean Martin up and over onto himself instead, delicately situating himself on the couch and tucking Martin into his side. “Did he behave?”

“Believe so, yeah.” Jon gestured to the coffee table, which was, Tim realized, less cluttered than he had left it. “He tried to clear up a little, and I think that made him feel…” Jon searched for a word. “Useful, I think? Took turns reading chapters from _Good Omens_ until he fell asleep.”

“Good man,” Tim congratulated, patting Jon’s flannelled thigh. Martin stirred against his shoulder, and Tim dusted a finger along his freckles. “Well, hello, darlin’. Glad of you to join us.”

Martin’s eyes flickered open slowly, and Tim took a moment to admire Martin Blackwood. The way his hair curled and pressed to his skin, the freckles that dusted his face, neck, shoulders that Tim could (and had) spent hours constellating, the pink of his cheeks from sleep where he had been pressed against a surface, be it the couch, Jon, or Tim. “Mmm-iya,” he mumbled, voice rough from sick and sleep. “Glad you’re home.”

“Me too, love. Here,” he pressed a flu capsule to his lips, and Martin opened his mouth to accept it. “There you go. See if that’ll help.”

When the medicine was kicking in and both men felt decently more functional, Tim convinced them both to shut their eyes while he got their gifts sorted. With much pomp and ceremony, he handed each of them a cloth bag he had taken to Asda for the shopping, items sorted for each of them once the other items had been removed.

“Go on!” Jon nodded, face pensive, movements slow as he took each item out of the bag and studied it, a look Tim knew to be one of tender emotion. The stuffed cat, a get-well card that denoted Jon as “one tough cookie!” and a bag of sour gummy worms and fruit pastilles, candies Tim knew to be Jon’s favorite. A mug lay at the bottom, modeled to be a grey cat, with a curved, striped tail as the handle and a round face protruding out the side, green eyes and pink nose textured and glazed.

Martin took the cue as well and opened his bag curiously. The cow was there, mooing when he squeezed the foot. A bag of his favorite cinnamon candies, the ones Tim loved to taste when he kissed him, a rolled fluffy blanket, and a card that reminded Martin to “Get Butter Soon,” with a plate of toast winking at him from the cover. When he turned his eyes to Tim, they were shining with unshed tears.

“Tim-” The man in question grinned from his seat on the coffee table, something Jon would usually never allow, delighted with himself. “I-ah, _thank you_.”

His voice was thick was emotion, and Tim was quick to grab hand and press a kiss to his knuckles. “Anytime, my love. I just saw them and thought of you both.” Jon was pressing the stuffed cat to his chest and examining it carefully, hands tracing the delicate seams. At Tim’s words, he raised his head and met his eyes.

“They’re lovely, Tim, thank you,” he added softly. “You-you’ve been so good to us these past few days, and it means a lot. Really.”

Tim grinned slyly, launching himself onto the couch between them and stretching across their laps languorously. “ _Well_ ,” he began, and he could practically _feel_ Jon rolling his eyes at the change in his tone. “You all haven’t made it easy for me, all this lunch-losing nonsense and fevers and tea! But I’m a brave, brave man, and I’ve managed. Honestly, I think I’ve made more tea than Martin ever did in the archives.”

“Don’t belittle my work like that,” Martin pretended to scowl, but the way he was holding the stuffed cow to his chest undercut the tone by more than a little. “Thank you though, Tim. I know I’m not easy when I’m sick and your patience…well, it meant a lot. _Means_ a lot.” His eyes were still glassy, but the medicine was doing an excellent job.

“Oh hush, we’ll talk about that when you’re well. We all have our own-” Tim sighed heavily through the word, “—traumas. Just let me love you and we’ll be all good, cheers? Besides, you can make it up to me the next time I’m feeling especially hungover. Two of you taking care of me while I doze on a couch and beg for cuddles?” Jon kicked him and Tim ignored it. “Sounds absolutely heavenly.”

“Now, come on.” Tim reached for the remote and clicked on the telly. “I have a hankering for a good romcom, and you two are gonna crash when the meds wear off anyways.” He kissed both his boyfriends on the lips firmly, one tasting like fruit and the other like sweet cinnamon, never mind the illness. It occurred to him that he was living a romantic fantasy now, with the two men he loved most in the world, the taste of sweets and love on their lips. 


End file.
